


Certo, Donna Lucia

by theoldgods



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Light Knifeplay, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Sex for Favors, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 18:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5173976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoldgods/pseuds/theoldgods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing American embassy staff and a missing armament shipment must be accounted for. Fortunately for MI6, James Bond has a working relationship of sorts with the new head of the Sciarra business in Rome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Certo, Donna Lucia

**Author's Note:**

> I've only seen the movie once, so sorry for any minor discrepancies! I just wanted to get a little bit more of these two out.

They meet at midnight in the Piazza del Popolo, the only sound around them the wind whispering through the trees on the hill above. Within five minutes they’re up against one of those trees at the edge of the Piazzale Napoleone, James with an unobstructed view of the empty square beneath them as Lucia’s mouth works at his glans.

“This is beyond crude,” he murmurs. “Is this how you keep your men in line?”

Her mouth moves lower down his shaft, tongue tickling for a moment at his balls where they’re still trapped in his trousers as a finger teases lower, toward his opening.

“Point taken, _cara mia_.” In the darkness he feels, rather than sees, her eyes roll back into her head, an observation that flits in and out of his mind as her finger continues working at him. He’s been around long enough that one finger won’t do much for him any longer, but her mouth is shockingly warm and tight as it recenters on the head of his prick, and he knows better than to complain.

“I thought you compliant once before,” James whispers, shivering in the autumn air, as she runs her free hand along his shaft. “You’ll have to tell me what happened to the American ambassador’s men.”

She pulls off briefly to smile up at him, continuing to work a finger into his arse until she’s up to the knuckle. “They were not needed.”

“Their families might disagree with you.”

Lucia bends and twists her tongue around the head, causing him to exhale strongly. James leans back against the tree and looks up at the stars peaking through the clouds and smog, counts them idly until he feels himself come, as if from a great distance, into her waiting mouth. She sucks him dry, tonguing at his slit until he squirms away. Her eyes glitter softly as he begins to put himself back together.

“You belong to a chauvinistic culture, _bella_. His men will not follow a woman forever.”

“Six months is already forever,” she tells him, getting to her feet. “And a woman is like a man—if you want to know my secrets, you will have to pay.”

“Like the first time,” James murmurs as she leans next to him against the tree.

“Somewhat like.” She wraps a hand around his head, pushing him down; when he raises an eyebrow, she smiles. “More tongue. I like tongue.”

“Tongue for the missing shipment,” he agrees as he settles on his knees and lifts her skirt, under which she is wearing nothing. “As agreed.”

Lucia is warm, though not hot, beneath his tongue; he feels her shift, brushing her fingers through his hair as he begins kissing around her clit and her inner thighs, back and forth until he can feel her waist beneath him soften and relax some. One of her hands is still braced against the bark behind her, and as he runs a hand down the back of her thigh he feels the empty sheath poking slightly out of the top of her boot. He laughs softly against the mound of dark hair beneath his mouth.

“Ah, good,” she whispers as his tongue darts inside her. “Have you tried Ostia?”

He shakes his head minutely and pushes himself in farther, smiling at her muted noise.

"The old places, they are the best. That is what the Russians say when they agree to our wishes. They will be there—ah—” his slides a finger into her, shifting his mouth to her clit “—the next new moon.”

It takes him another moment, lost as he is in her musk and the growing warmth of her skin, to notice the cold steel prickling his jugular vein. He continues to his task, though not without looking up at her, the length of her face tilted up as she runs the knife back and forth across his pulse point.

“It is crude,” she whispers, smiling at the stars, as James mouths her clit and she shifts beneath him. “But effective. I must have silence in my men.” The knifepoint twists harder, and he feels his pulse begin to race further beneath its kiss. “I am only a grieving widow.”

James cannot believe he denied himself the pleasure of her voice, her deadliness, her cunt in his face the first time he had her, fingerprints smearing her mirror as they rutted like animals. He also cannot believe he left her to lie in her widow’s bed, believing her in need of the Americans, believing that she could not charm or fuck her way to safety. He relishes it now, eating and finger-fucking with impunity, smirking at the steadiness of the knife even as she finally comes beneath him, silent and still but for how her free hand twists in his hair.

“You are quick,” Lucia murmurs, sheathing the knife as he rolls back onto his heels and licks her off his chin. “As good as I remember.” She tickles where he licks, and he presses up into her like a dog, scenting himself still on her fingers.

“Ostia,” he says as he gets to his feet eventually, allowing her to see the shape of his gun under his arm as he stretches. “The new moon.”

“You are a quick study.” She wraps her shawls around herself once more as they start back down toward the piazza. “And I?”

He sucks at a finger. “If you are right, you shall have a chance to learn my secrets in return.”

She does not reach for her boot, but he feels the metal pressing against his throat nonetheless. “Tonight, please.”

“Your sleeves are impressive, to carry that as well.” Two dark figures stand at the base of the obelisk in the piazza’s center, watching them descend with unblinking stares. He touches the handle of his Sig. “Never bring a knife to a gun fight, _cara mia_.”

“Never trust a grieving widow, _Topolino_.” She kisses the top of his head, and he fights down the illogical surge of arousal that, and the kiss of her knife, sends through his limbs. “We will have wine, I think, and talk. There is a good hotel not far, off the Corso. Your tail will see us. Think what goods you can give me, that will not break the English bank. There must be something worth the nuclear Russian loads.”

M had not said _nuclear_ when asking Bond to make a trade with his Italian shipping magnate friend. Neither had Q’s dossier when he’d read it off the screen at HQ while the quartermaster had his back turned.

James threads his arm through hers, smiling as they approach the obelisk and her men.

“I am sure there is, Donna Lucia.”

 


End file.
